


It's Kinda Soothing to be Here Viewing You

by PivioneBlanche



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fluff and Smut, M/M, fuck buddies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-21
Updated: 2013-04-21
Packaged: 2017-12-09 02:27:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/768906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PivioneBlanche/pseuds/PivioneBlanche
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Friends with benefits was a nice thing, yes. But sometimes, there were things that are nicer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Kinda Soothing to be Here Viewing You

**Author's Note:**

> The fic I promised the Zouis peeps for the previous confusion on The Night Shines, It's Getting Hot on My Shoulders.
> 
> Enjoy the Zouis ;)
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

**It's Kinda Soothing to be Here Viewing You**

  
Nobody quite knew whose idea it was to marathon an entire season of Mad Men – which one, Louis wasn’t sure, because they all seemed kind of wacky enough to do just that. But here they were, sprawled around Niall’s living room among a minefield of various junk foods and sugary drinks (and some booze here and there.)

Louis' current position was lying with his head on Harry’s lap, half-dozing. The sleepiness was because they had spent the night partying hard – classes were in the can at last, and they had a brief respite before the rounds of final projects and exams come driving them through the wall.

The position was for a twofold reason. One, because Harry was propped up in a way that was convenient and comfortable for Louis to lie across. Two, because the curly boy seemed out of it enough to not fidget and let Louis lay on his lap in peace.

It was just that Louis' eyes kept being drawn to the middle of the room, where Niall was lying curled up with someone else. Curled up might not be an accurate word – it was more like snuggling, his head on the other man’s chest, their hands clasped, an arm wrapped around Niall’s body.

Harry couldn’t help but notice Louis' expression. “What do you think of him?” he said.

“Hmm?” Louis raised his head and looked back at Harry – who looked just a tiny bit, well, smirky.

“You know – of Zayn. The person Niall’s using for a pillow right now.”

Louis turned his eyes back to the cozy looking duo. He hadn’t been particularly looking at Zayn, really. He’d been looking at the two of them together, and wondering what their relationship was. Niall usually was the one who ended up being someone else’s pillow instead of the snuggler. Louis never really properly interact with Zayn actually, he was always ‘Niall’s friend’, one that he saw occasionally on campus and in Niall’s famous parties.

Now, however, Louis got a good look at the other man, who seemed very serene and content. His gaze wandered over the wide deep brown eyes, the pouting lips, the thick head of midnight black hair, the cheekbones that could cut glass, and a jawline that could make a person believe in God.

“He’s really attractive,” he responded to Harry.

Harry’s smirk grew wider, not a good thing if you know the curly menace at all, “How about you have a go at him, then?”

“Harry!” Louis whipped around so fast, he thought his head was going to just keep spinning. He’d be sitting there in front of Harry with his skull going around and around like a top, and everyone else in the room would be too sated on pizza and beers and Mad Men to notice.

“What?” Harry said, looking all innocence.

“I don’t just hit on . . . well, on guys I barely know!”

“You slept with Niall right after he transferred here!”

“That was different!” Louis countered, feeling increasingly flustered, wondering if anyone was watching them. “Besides,” he added, much quieter, less defensively, “he was the one who hit on me.”

“Send Zayn signals you want him to hit on you, then.”

“I can’t do that!” Harry was teasing him, right? He had to be teasing him. He couldn’t be serious. “He’s . . .” He jerked his head toward the two on the floor. “You know.”

“You mean, with Niall?” Harry wrapped an arm around Louis and pulled him close. “Don’t worry about that. They’re just fuck buddies. But definitely no strings attached.”

Louis was silent. “Fuck buddies” was the way of life in college, wasn’t it? Okay, so Niall and Zayn were friends. No different than Louis himself with any of his casual partners. He shouldn't be thinking so much about it, then.

“If you don’t want him,” Harry said, teasingly, “maybe I’ll move in on him.”

“No!” Louis said, quickly – too quickly. “I mean, you can if you want, but . . .”“Don’t worry, I’m just teasing,” Harry said, but lowered his voice into a hush nonetheless. “I could check with Niall first if you want.”

Before Louis could respond however, Niall suddenly bounced up his heels and dragged Zayn out of sight in a swift motion. Leaving no doubt about what kind of things they will be up to.

“Well,” Harry muttered in a mock regret, “there’s always tomorrow.”

Louis found himself rolling his eyes a little, even as he leaned back against Harry again.

* * *

The rain was coming down in sheets as Louis exited the coffee shop, umbrella in hand. He wondered why this hadn’t officially been declared a typhoon. It certainly had all the symptoms. Heavy-heavy rain, check. Howling wind, check. Feeling soaked to the skin two seconds after you stepped outside, double-check.

And, of course, he was parked halfway down the block – just his luck. Louis trudged along, holding the umbrella tightly, thinking he’d like to have a time machine right now so he could go back 24 hours to the Mad Men party. Or a few hours after that, when Harry ended up busy reducing him to a quivering, moaning heap.

Fuck buddies, he thought again. He really wondered, sometimes, if that was enough for him. He loved the physical pleasure he got from his friend, to be sure . . . but there were times when he wanted something, well, more than that.

His thoughts were interrupted by a particularly strong gust of wind rudely ripping the umbrella from his hand and flinging it down the street. Great. At least the thing didn’t turn inside-out – he was suddenly very glad he’d invested in an extra-strong model.

This didn’t save him from having to run after it, splashing through puddles like a kid on his way home from school, keeping his eye on the umbrella so it won’t go halfway to . . .

A hand reached out and grabbed it before Louis could get to it. Approaching the hand, he saw it was connected to a very long arm. The arm was, in turn, connected to a fit, slender body.

“Hey,” said a familiar voice. “Is this yours?”

Louis blinked and looked at the voice’s owner. There was Zayn, one hand holding an umbrella of his own, the other holding Louis'. “Oh,” he said. “Yes. Yes, it is.”

“You’re drenched,” the other man said. Louis hoped Zayn was just being ironic.

Louis nodded, taking the umbrella from the other man. His eyes ran over him again. Oh, yes, he was correct in his assessment of last night. Zayn was a beauty – there was an intrigue and elegance about him that put one in mind of a fairy tale prince. Well, a prince crossed with a rocker or something.

“Look, I’m going to go get coffee” – Zayn jerked his head toward the coffeeshop Louis just left – “and warm up a little. Wanna join me? Looks like you need it.”

There was no way Louis would admit to Zayn that he just down two mugs of coffee himself in said coffeeshop and missed out of a chance to stare at that face a little longer, “I sure do,” he said. “Thanks.”

“All right, then!” Zayn happily led the way through the rain and the gloom, seeming to carry his own personal ray of sunshine with him. Amazing, yes, but that’s what it looked like – wherever Zayn moved, the clouds and wetness and general dreariness seemed to dissipate.

Louis followed him, one part of him not quite sure why, another thinking there was no other course of action in the world.

* * *

Cupping his third latte in his hand, blowing gently at the steam, Louis peered over the edge at Zayn, watching as the other man talked in an animated manner, describing a funny incident that had happened in class that day when Liam had accidentally locked himself in the broom closet.

Of course, Louis had done his share of talking, too – he was a natural talker. But he preferred to listen to Zayn speak. There was something about the voice plus the accent that was just plain fascinating.

He’d learned all about the other man’s close friends in the last half-hour-to-an-hour, those people who until now had been mere acquaintances, people glimpsed in the halls and at parties.

Louis found out about Danny’s obsession with soccer, and Liam’s tendency to document every restaurant meal he had in photographs. He learned how Anth still skateboards sometimes, and scared the crap out of all of them nearly rolling into traffic; and how Josh tried unsuccessfully to hide the fact that his relationship with his teenage best friend was more than friendly.

Most of all, Louis was learning about Zayn, just from observing him. The way his eyes lit up like a million firecrackers when he talked about arts and literature, like nothing else in the world mattered to him; the softness in his voice when discussing a lyric that had special meaning for him; a bit of ice in his tone when talking about how his dad still refused to meet his eyes since he came out to his family.

It was fascinating, putting the pieces of a person together. The beautiful façade was turning into a three-dimensional picture. Here was a man who lived and breathed his art, fiercely loyal to his friends, but not tolerating pettiness or wrongs, showing a slight dark streak among all the bright.

Just enough to make Louis intrigued, and charmed.

Zayn was talking about interviews now, the ones he had to do when he applied for part time jobs in art galleries, and how the most difficult question to answer was always what you’d do if you weren’t an artist.

“I say an English teacher or maybe a graphic artist. But in reality? I have no idea. I can’t imagine my life without painting for a living.” He looked over at Louis a little sheepishly. “I’m sorry for my ramblings...”

Louis hastily shook his head. “No, it’s okay...I...erm...I like listening to you...”

Zayn gave him a bright teasing smile. “Well, nice to know,” he said.

Louis smiled back at him. God, this man was beautiful. Not just the physical appearance. That image he’d had of him on the street, radiating light, was back, only now, Louis could perceive it as a warm glow at the very bottom of Zayn’s soul, beaming outward and being transmitted through that smile. (And people told Louis he had a gorgeous smile? Zayn’s smile would light up the darkest corner of hell. Sailors could use it as a lighthouse beacon. He could illuminate an entire stadium for the length of a whole sporting event.)

Zayn finished the last of his coffee and peered outside. “The rain’s letting up a little,” he said. Which meant he was probably going home.

Louis was feeling the loss already. But he said, “Maybe we should be going,” anyway. Because, well, it was expected right now.

The dark haired man looked at the rain again – and then turned another smile on Louis. “Hey. There’s a noodle place I like a few doors down from here, and I’m hungry now. Want to stick with me for dinner?”

At this point, Louis would have followed him to the ends of the earth. Dear God, was he crushing on this guy? He was too old for crushes and technically he only officially knew the man for a few hours. But how else would you explain the feeling in his stomach, like being on top of a roller coaster, right before the highest drop . . .

Great, he was a grown man, a responsible final year uni student, morphing into a teenager. He might as well put on a little tutu now. Although, Zayn might find that kinky.

“Yes,” Louis said. “I’d be glad to.”

Zayn gave him another smile, and Louis melted, like chocolate in the sunlight. His fate for the evening was sealed, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

* * *

Louis decided that his theory that he was developing a full-blown crush on Zayn was definitely borne out by the fact that he was enjoying watching the man eat.

Looking at other people having their dinner usually wasn’t a fun activity – especially when it came to noodles, an ungraceful food to say the very least. In fact, the spectacle of people slurping up noodles and drinking broth from the bowl usually bordered on flat-out gross.

But then, there was Zayn, sort of holding the noodles in front of himself as if he were contemplating them, then ducking his head down, putting the chopsticks between his lips and inhaling their burden rapidly.

Which, of course, only made Louis think of other things Zayn could do with his mouth. Which made him lean over his own bowl so far he nearly ducked himself in it.

“So, do you have everything done for the finals yet?” Zayn asked, after he had finished chewing and swallowing his mouthful, Louis noted.

“Almost,” Louis said. “I’m about to wrapped up my final project but my professor kept pushing back our appointments.” He scooped up noodles and tried to be as delicate as Zayn when he swallowed them.

“I hate that stage of things,” Zayn said. “Our professors kept on our asses when we did so much as be a minute late and than they disappeared off the planet once it’s finals time.” He picked up another stickful of noodles. “Niall’s been stressed out of his mind too.”

Louis tried to look nonchalant, he carefully put down his fork (he was useless with the chopstick) and gulp down the rest of his barley tea before hoping his tone doesn’t sound too prying when he asked, “So, how’s things with Niall?”

 

There was a bit of a dragged out silence after the question left Louis’ mouth. Louis was mentally torturing himself for asking that completely unnecessary question while Zayn was giving him some sort of contemplative look he couldn’t comprehend.

“It’s easy with him,” Zayn finally answered, a bit wistfully, picking up his glass and sloshing the liquid around a little. “We’ve been doing what we do eversince we met and he had become a really good friend of mine. But we’re not...” He trailed off.

Louis found himself wondering if Zayn could’ve had feelings for Niall. He knew they’ve been inseparable since they met, Louis even remembered a disgruntled Zayn leering at him with dark eyes when he was about to leave Niall’s flat after his one night with the blond. Of course, that meant nothing – but there was a rather melancholy look in Zayn’s eyes right now . . .

“I don’t get why Niall won’t just lock someone like you down,” Louis said, before he knew it. Oh, hell, Why don’t you just announce, “By the way, I’m crushing on you big-time,” Louis? And then back it up with writing it out on the napkins in every language you know, and take a stab at Urdu while you’re at it?

Zayn turned one of those smiles that would light up the dark side of the moon on him. “You’re flattering me,” he said, and after a beat, “You and Harry?”

“No,” Louis said simply. Occasional sex with one’s best friend doesn’t necessarily means ‘in a relationship’ now does it?

“Well, I can’t imagine why he won’t lock down someone like you, either.”

They just sat there for a moment, and Louis found himself returning Zayn’s smile, feeling wrapped in that light the other man seemed to radiate. The sadness from before was gone from Zayn’s eyes – in fact, he seemed to be looking at Louis with sweetness, and warmth, and . . .

As if knowing they were on dangerous territory, Zayn quickly put down the glass and turned his attention back to the last few noodles in his bowl. “You know, Liam wants me to apply to his dad’s gallery. He keeps telling me I’m perfect for it, and I keep telling him I’m not ready.”

“Why not?” Louis said, “I know Mr. Payne’s got the hottest gallery in the country right now but I know you’re talented enough to get it international.”

“You’re such a charmer” Zayn looked up with that smile again.

“I swear and I promise,” Louis said, holding his hand straight up and down, palm turned toward Zayn, the position he’d seen people take when swearing oaths in courtroom dramas.

Zayn suddenly leaned over and pressed his own palm against Louis'. Louis looked at their two hands together. Zayn’s fingers were long, tapering, a bit rough on the edges, like the rest of him. Louis' were slightly smaller, more slender, smooth and sharp on the edges.

They made a beautiful contrast. They looked like they belonged together.

“I’ll take it,” Zayn said, before looking slightly down while hints of blush crept into his skin, “And anything else you have to offer.”

There was another of those suspended-in-time moments when they just looked at each other, exchanging smiles, Then, the two hands began to turn, Zayn’s to the left, Louis' to the right, the fingers moving until they could interlace.

There was a moment’s pause, as if they both knew this was the point of no turning back – that if they moved forward, they were heading into something that could be, well, more than a one-night stand.

The fingers laced, the hands clasping each other, The two men looked down for a moment, blushing a bit, laughing softly.

They both knew something had begun.

* * *

Louis was the one who’d driven that day, so they took his car to his place. In the end, it didn’t end up where they ended up, and how they got there. They both knew what the end was going to be.

He was fully expecting to be pushed against the living room wall as soon as the door closed behind them, Zayn’s hands clutching Louis' shirt front as their mouths came together. Louis closed his eyes and opened his lips, feeling the welcome probing by something soft and strong. He tasted noodles and latte and a faint hint of tobacco.

Fingers tangled in hair, hips pushed against one another, grinding ever so slightly, just enough to create a maddening desire for more. Tongues brushed together, dancing and stroking and exciting.

They broke apart, breathless, panting, and Zayn uttered a single word – “Where?” Louis inclined his head to the left – Zayn didn’t need to hear more.

By the time they crossed the living room and entered Louis' bedroom, they already had buttons unfastened, zippers undone. They couldn’t get to each other fast enough. Louis tossed his shirt to the ground, pants, underwear – and then reached for the light switch.

Zayn caught his hand. “No,” he said.

“No?”

“Leave it on,” Zayn said. “Please.”

Louis eased his hand away. Well, okay. It had always been dark or dimly lit in the room when he’d been with other men, but if that was what Zayn wanted . . .

When the artist dropped the last garment to the floor, he pulled Louis into another kiss, and now it was skin on skin, body on body. Louis rubbed himself against his new partner, feeling the texture of his skin – soft, so soft and smooth. Oh, God, he wanted to memorize every detail of this man, every taste and texture and scent. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt like he flat-out drowning in desire like this.

He felt himself being gently guided backward, and he let Zayn walk him over to the bed, guiding him to lie flat on his back. Zayn sat on the edge, looking down at him, and Louis tensed, expecting to feel the other man’s hands and mouth on his cock, or his nipples, or teasingly nipping at his thighs . . .

Instead, Zayn took Louis' hand and guided it to his mouth, kissing the fingertips. “Amazing,” he murmured. “You’re just gorgeous. Even more than I thought you’d be. Your face, your body . . . you’re perfect.”

Louis suddenly felt the blood rush to his face, his breathing become a bit heavier. He was used to being told during sex that he was hot, and sensual, and had a killer body and huge cock. But the way Zayn was talking . . .

It was almost reverent. Worshipful. So was the way his eyes were wandering over Louis' body, taking in each detail, bit by bit.

“I want to look at you,” Zayn said. “I want to look at you, and touch you . . .”

Zayn brought his long, rough fingers to Louis' neck, and began moving down the column, a light, gentle touch. He slid down to Louis’ shoulders, tracing the shapes of the collarbones, then moved down his arms, fingers caressing the muscles developed from long hours at the gym.

Louis was breathless. This wasn’t like any touch he’d ever experienced before. It was like Zayn was trying to learn him, to explore every part of him thoroughly, to worship every inch of Louis.

The hands moved back up his arms and down his chest, avoiding the nipples, but following the path of the muscles, tracing patterns on the skin here and there. They slipped down to his belly, pressing gently on the small pouch of flesh, teasing his navel. All the way, Zayn’s eyes followed the path of his hands, a glance that caressed, not devoured.

Louis lay there luxuriating like an animal being petted, feeling like a god on a pedestal, worshipped and adored. It was making him feel beautiful and sexy in a way the adoration of a subject to their idols, the naughty murmurs of most lovers never could.

It was also making Louis feel hot as hell. The gentle hands slid to his hips, and then his legs – moving down the outside of the thighs, avoiding the sensitive inner part – and, especially, his cock. And that organ was against Louis' stomach, hard, and completely neglected. His nipples were like small rocks on his chest, pointed toward the ceiling.

Louis was moaning recklessly as Zayn’s hands made their way down his calves, caressing, kneading the muscles. How could he feel so tight as a bowstring, so much like bursting into flame, when Zayn was flat-out avoiding the sexual parts of him?

When he finally reached Louis' feet, Zayn ran his fingers over the insteps, then the toes – then suddenly paused. Louis lifted his head, panting, wondering what the man was going to do next . . .

Zayn moved up again, and this time, he brought those fingers to Louis' aching, neglected nipples. Just a faint touch, the slightest caress, but it made Louis arch off the bed, letting out a small cry.

“Oh,” he panted. “Zayn...please . . .”

The dark haired man began to caress the buds with a circular motion, and Louis raised his hips, moaning, panting, one hand clutching at the bedding, feeling his skin breaking out in a sweat. He wondered how he must look right now – needy and flushed, hair in disarray. From the way Zayn was still looking at him, his appearance was appreciated.

Louis found himself parting his legs, raising his hips more in mute appeal. And then Zayn was leaning over, and his hot tongue was flicking over Louis' nipple while his fingers brushed the other man’s cock – the slightest touch, again – and Louis could stay mute no longer.

“Fuck me,” he moaned. “Please, Zayn, please . . . “

Zayn bent over, and his lips claimed Louis' again. Louis thrust his tongue forward, in and out of Zayn’s lips, in and out, demonstrating what he wanted, what he needed like never before.

Giving Louis a last peck on the lips, Zayn moved away from him and went right for the night table drawer – Louis didn’t need to tell him he’d find the condoms and lube there. Louis leaned back, closing his eyes for the first time since the lovemaking, it wasn’t even fucking anymore, began, waiting to feel that same caressing touch inside him.

When the first lubed finger pushed in, Louis nearly lost it. Oh, dear God, it felt so good! It was like Zayn’s hands were made for Louis' body, the finger opening him up gently, gradually, stroking sensitive nerve endings that made him moan and moan again . . .

The second finger slid in, and Louis bucked against the welcome intrusion, wanting more and more of that touch. By the time the third pushed in, Louis was flat-out fucking Zayn’s fingers, impaling himself on them.

“Oh, Louis,” Zayn murmured. “You’re so damn horny . . . you love everything about this so much. . . .”

Louis wanted to say it was because of him, that it was because of Zayn’s adoration of his body that he was now ready to burst into flame, but he was beyond doing anything but moaning at this point. He moaned as the fingers slid out of him, making him feel empty. He moaned again, in anticipation, as he watched Zayn roll on the condom and slick himself.

Zayn moved atop Louis, and Louis was drowning in body heat, and the kiss his Zayn gave him was returned with fierce hunger. He felt the tip of the other man’s cock press against his entrance, and in a strange way, he felt virginal – whole body trembling with excitement and the thrill of the unknown – even though he’d been with Harry just the night before. (Which now felt like several eternities ago. Another lifetime. Another reality.)

“Ready?” Zayn said, and Louis gave a nod. And then the other man was filling him, bit by bit, and there was stretching and some pain, but Louis ignored them. They didn’t matter. All that mattered now was Zayn, filling him and filling him some more.

Zayn paused for a moment, panting, saying, “God . . . you feel so fucking good, Louis . . .”

Louis raised his head, gently kissing Zayn’s cheeks, his nose, his eyelids. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured. “So beautiful. Zayn . . .”

Zayn reached for the other man’s hand, and they laced their fingers together, like they had in the restaurant. They paused a moment longer, breathing heavily.

Then, Zayn moved, and Louis felt that wonderful cock start to slide in and out of him, and he closed his eyes and surrendered to the bliss. Zayn was moderately big, yet he fit Louis perfectly, rubbing against sensitive nerve endings with every thrust, finding every bit of Louis that craved attention as if drawn there by magic.

Louis writhed, and moaned, and moved his hips with Zayn’s, the two of them in a heated dance, punctuated by the sound of their ragged breathing and groans and murmurs of each other’s names. His hands slid down sweat-slicked skin, following the curve of Zayn’s back down to his ass, and he grasped the firm flesh, caressing it tenderly.

“Louis,” Zayn moaned, which made Louis caress him more, making Zayn thrust harder, and faster, and reach for his cock, stroking it in time with his thrusts . . .

Oh, Louis was close, so close. He needed just a little more, just a little more . . . and then Zayn thrust hard against that spot that made stars explode behind Louis' eyes, and he arched all the way off the bed, letting out a sound between a yell and a scream, the come pouring and pouring from him.

He sagged to the bed, weightless, boneless, feeling Zayn thrust hard into him again and again, and then hearing the other man’s ecstatic cry, then a low, satisfied moan as Zayn gently pulled himself out, flopping to the bed beside Louis.

They snuggled together and kissed, soft and tender, parted, then kissed again. Louis lay his head on Zayn’s chest, closing his eyes and letting out a deep sigh. Oh, he was going to back in this, in these sweet, soft, mellow emotions. He didn’t think he’d ever felt so fully sated in his life.

Zayn’s fingers moved over his hair, tenderly stroking. “I wanna stay the night,” he said, eyes filled with hope.

“I was already planning to make you pancakes in the morning,” Louis chuckled breathlessly, not moving.

“Pancakes?” Zayn kissed Louis' temple. “I’d like that.”

There was a sudden loss of warmth as Zayn moved away, dealing with the condom and reaching for the container of wipes on the night table, cleaning both of them up. When he was done, they snuggled together again.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted to do this?” Zayn said.

Louis raised his head, surprised. “What?”

“Well, I mean go on a date with you, but . . . yeah, the rest of it, too. I’ve, well, had my eye on you for awhile – eversince you stumbled out of Niall’s room actually.”

Was he hearing this? Zayn had been crushing on him? For a long time? And there was that high school-like thrill again. “Why didn’t you say anything?” he said, trying to conceal the surprise in his voice.

“I thought you and Harry were together. Niall set me straight about that last night.”

Oh, God. Just like Louis' own conversation with Harry. “No, we’re not. We were friends...with benefits.” And it wasn’t lost on either of them that Louis was using past tense.

“Just like Niall and I,” Zayn said. He leaned in for another kiss, then yawned. “I think I need a nap now.”

Louis had to admit he had a point – he was just now noticing how tired he was, how much their lovemaking had taken out of him. Before he could reply, though, his phone rudely interrupted with the pinging of a text message. Louis was going to ignore it – but it pinged again - and it was a customized tone that made Louis realized...Oh, God, Harry. Louis knew if he didn’t answer his bestfriend’s messages right away, the little menace will keep sending them until he did.

“I’ll be right back,” he told Zayn. He crossed the room to his discarded pants, fished out the phone, opened the messages, and typed, “Busy. Have company. Talk to you tomorrow.”

Zayn sat up. “Something wrong?”

“Not at all,” Louis said, putting the phone on silent and shutting it in the night table drawer. He crawled back in bed and cuddled against Zayn again. Mmm, this was more like it. Cozy. Comfortable. It felt like where he belonged.

“Good,” Zayn said. “Now rest a little? We’re going to need energy later.”

“Oh?” Louis said, raising his head.

“Yes,” Zayn said. “I intend to taste you before I taste your pancakes.”

Louis laughed at how corny that sounded, softly, and snuggled against Zayn. Oh, yes, he definitely belonged here.

This was the start of something. And he couldn’t wait to see where it went.

* * *

Harry dropped his phone on the night table and climbed back into bed beside Niall. “It worked,” he said.

Niall yawned. He was still trying to recover from the workout the curly boy had given him before. “What did?”

“Our little project. I saw them having dinner together. And Louis just texted me to say he had company.” Harry smirked, air quoting the word company.

  
“Good,” Niall said, decidedly uninterested and yawning again, “Now, can I get some rest?”

“Huh,” Harry pouted. “I’d expect you to be happier. It was your idea, after all.”

Niall had to admit Harry had a point there. He’d been concerned about his Zayn ever since the man told him that he was having a crush at a taken man. Niall could sense that his best friend was lonely sometimes – and he’d already picked up on the fact that Louis was the one Zayn got his gorgeous eyes on. It was just a matter of convincing Harry to work on the other end, and get Louis to notice Zayn.

But, “I’ll be happier once I’ve had some sleep,” he mumbled instead.

Harry turned off the night table light and rolled over, closer to Niall, wrapping an arm around him. Now that their best friends had found someone to hold on to, maybe it was about time that he and Niall see where their own relationship was going to go.

Friends with benefits was a nice thing, yes. But sometimes, there were things that were nicer.


End file.
